


Journal

by Limpet666



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Hope, M/M, Mentions of Beth, Minor Angst, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limpet666/pseuds/Limpet666
Summary: Jesus discovers a journal in his lover's bag.(soft fluff and reminiscence)





	Journal

It was early, as expected. Neither one of them were late sleepers, and the sun was only just starting to lighten the sky. Dawn would be soon.

Daryl was awoken by movement on the bed beside him. No matter how stealthy his lover tried to be, Daryl had been a light sleeper even before the end of the world. Now a delayed reaction was the difference between life and death.

The only difference now, in the safety of the Hilltop, was that he didn’t start awake as soon as consciousness touched his mind.

Now, barring any loud noises, he could drift into consciousness slowly-- he could allow the day to creep into his mind until he was ready to rise.

Except that Jesus was making noises, in that way that people who are trying not to make a lot of noise do.

“What’re you doin’?” Daryl’s voice was gruff and half muffled by the pillow his face was still half buried in, wishing that Jesus could have deigned to just stay in bed for a few minutes more.

“Sorry,” Jesus whispered in the dark, whilst continuing to make noise as he looked for something. “I remembered I need to write a list for Maggie, but I can’t find any paper.”

Daryl grumbled, rubbing his face in the pillow before lifting his head.

“My bag.” He knew he had a pad in there somewhere. It came in useful for all sorts, so he tried to keep one in there at all times.

“Thanks,” Jesus hummed, standing and crossing to where Daryl had left his satchel on a chair next to the door.

There was nothing for it, he was awake now, so Daryl rolled onto his back, rubbing at his face with one hand whilst the other kept the covers pulled up to his chest.

Considering he had nothing on under the covers, keeping the blankets pulled up in the summer warmth seemed counterintuitive, but old habits were hard to break. Even with the man he shared a bed with, Daryl found it difficult to bare his torso, conscious of the many scars and the stories behind them.

“What’s this?” Jesus asked softly across the room, hand pulling something from Daryl’s satchel.

The words, in anyone else’s mouth, would have made Daryl’s blood run cold with potential. It was an innocuous question that could relate to any number of forgotten items with traumatic memories attached.

But Jesus was calm, as always, and Daryl only looked over curiously at the question. There were any number of things in Daryl’s bag that Jesus could have asked about if he’d really gone digging, and yet Daryl had told him to go into his personal belongings anyway.

As it turned out, Jesus was holding a small leather-bound book, and Daryl’s chest tightened when he saw it. By his expression alone Jesus knew it was an emotional item.

Writing pad forgotten, Jesus stood and came back to the bed without hesitation, book held gently between his hands

He sat down on the soft mattress, laying the book reverently on his lap.

“Can I open it?” He asked when Daryl said nothinh, looking to his lover for permission. Daryl worried his lip before nodding.

It was a diary, and without even reading a word Jesus knew it wasn’t Daryl’s. Not that he thought his lover wasn’t one for journaling, but the many feminine flourishes on every page gave it away as belonging to a teenage girl.

It took Jesus about 20 second of flicking through the many filled pages before he realised.

“This is Beth’s.”

It was a statement, not a question, and when he looked back to Daryl, he found his lover looking sadly at the journal and chewing his lip as he did when he was finding it difficult to form words.

Many of Rick’s group had mentioned Beth-- and Hershel, and Bob, and Tyrese, and all the other many family members they had lost. They were different from the Hilltop in that way. They remembered their dead, spoke of them often and fondly.

The Hilltop had decided long ago that the only way was forward, and those that fell were honoured, but ultimately forgotten.

Maggie had talked of Beth. Never about how she had died, but of how she had been sweet, and strong, and fiercer than she knew. And of all the silly stories before all this. She spoke with bittersweet smiles and sad laughs. But Maggie had lost Beth long ago.

Daryl had known her longer-- later. Had known her as the fighter she could have become.

“What was she like?” Jesus asked, moving further onto the bed and laying back, his shoulder touching Daryl’s purposefully so he felt it when the other man shrugged. His lover communicated non-verbally so often; Jesus loved that about him. He was apt to distrust people who spoke too much.

“She was tough, y’know?” Daryl finally spoke after a long silence, the tension seeping out of him, clenched fingers relaxing against the blankets. “She was just a kid but…” He chewed his lip before nodding, “She’d have been good here.”

Jesus turned his eyes away the pages of the diary and looked to Daryl, who returned the look slowly.

“I wish I’d gotten to meet her,” Jesus spoke softly, feeling every word. With all he had dealt with, the people he had had to suffer, Jesus felt a weight of grief that he’d never had the chance to meet Beth. She was a strong presence in the group, even after her passing.

Daryl doubted himself constantly, but he had relayed to Maggie and the others his experiences with Beth in her last week’s and day’s. So much so that they became false memories with those that knew them. And with Noah’s added remembrances, they had nearly a complete timeline of her life.

The pain of not knowing how she had made her final decision would stay with them all. But they knew they trusted her; that she had made that decision in full knowledge of all the repercussions.

“She’d have liked you,” Daryl nodded, looking back to the journal and lifting a hand to run over the page. He’d never been able to read the whole thing, to do so intentionally felt like an invasion of privacy. But every now and then, when things were at their worst, he’d open a page.

She always seemed to write of hope. Of teenage problems, of pains and anxieties, but ultimately she was hopeful. For herself, for her family, and the world. It made Daryl feel better, in some small way, to know that good had existed once in this world. That there had been someone who was hopeful for the future despite the odds. That maybe there could be people like that again.

It was little wonder that he had found himself drawn to Paul Rovia.

Jesus shut the journal gently and waited until Daryl looked to him before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

It was lingering, and when Daryl finally pulled away Jesus let out a soft sigh, finger’s finding their way into his lover’s hair.

“She lives on in you, you know?” Jesus told him, pressing his forehead to Daryl’s when he ducked his head. “They all do, in all of us.”

When Daryl tugged him down into a hug, Jesus was more than happy to resign himself to starting their chores a bit late that morning.


End file.
